Edited by Mikkel Hyldebrandt
There’s something intoxicating about the first days of a new year. Fresh calendars. Clean planners. That quiet hum of possibility that whispers, This is the year everything finally clicks. For queer folks especially—after years that may have included political whiplash, cultural backlash, or simply the exhaustion of existing visibly—the urge to declare the coming months “the best year ever” can feel like a form of survival.
But here’s the gentle truth we rarely say out loud: overpromising yourself a perfect year can quietly set you up for disappointment. Not because you failed—but because life, politics, and people are unpredictable. And that doesn’t mean the year was bad. It just means the expectation was too rigid to hold real life.
Many of us start January armed with resolutions that assume stable ground: better routines, improved finances, more joy, more rest. Then reality arrives. A stressful election cycle. New legislation targeting our community. Global crises. Personal losses. Suddenly, the year feels “hard,” and we judge it harshly—even if we showed up bravely, learned new skills, or simply survived.
What if this year isn’t about declaring greatness in advance, but about creating flexibility instead?
One strategy is to replace big, outcome-based resolutions with values-based intentions. Instead of “This will be the year I finally get everything together,” try something more breathable: I want to practice self-trust. Or I want to protect my energy. Values travel better through chaos. They don’t collapse when plans change. They adapt.
This is especially important in a political climate that feels volatile at best and threatening at worst. For LGBTQ+ people, the constant low-level stress of watching our rights debated can drain even the most optimistic among us. It’s hard to plan a “best year ever” when the news cycle keeps reminding you that your safety isn’t guaranteed. In this context, adjusting expectations isn’t pessimism—it’s wisdom.
Another helpful shift is moving from “I should” to “I can.” “I should be happier by now.” “I should be more productive.” “I should be further along.” These thoughts stack pressure onto an already full plate. “I can rest when I need to.” “I can change my mind.” “I can reassess.” Permission is a radical tool, especially for those of us taught to overperform just to be accepted.
It’s also worth revisiting how we evaluate a year once it ends. Too often, we measure success by what didn’t happen: the goals we didn’t meet, the version of ourselves we didn’t become. But what if we asked different questions? Did I listen to my body more than I used to? Did I set at least one boundary that mattered? Did I show myself compassion on hard days? These are quieter wins, but they’re no less real.
This doesn’t mean abandoning hope or ambition. It means right-sizing them. You can still dream, plan, and strive—just without chaining your self-worth to a flawless outcome. A year can be meaningful without being magical. Healing without being linear. Better without being perfect.
So maybe this year’s promise doesn’t have to be “the best year ever.” Maybe it can be the year I stopped bullying myself with unrealistic expectations. Or the year I learned that adjusting course isn’t failure—it’s care.
Queerly beloved, let’s aim for a year that’s gentler than expected. One where we bend instead of break. One where, when we look back, we don’t just tally the struggles—but notice that, despite everything, we were still here. Still choosing ourselves. And that, quietly and powerfully, might be better than we ever anticipated.